I like knowing these things about my children.

On the forums once, an adoptive Mother was upset that her child’s birth mother kept making comparisons between the placed child and her parented child. I don’t know how you wouldn’t. As a mother who is actively parenting two children, I see the differences and samenesses every single day. While I don’t hold one to the other’s standard, because I do believe that can be harmful, I love having a brain and heart full of memories to say, “Oh yeah! Remember when BigBrother did this? Or that?”

An example. BigBrother was short and wide as a baby. LittleBrother is long and lean. They weighed in at exactly the same weight at their four month appointments but LittleBrother is two inches longer than BigBrother was at the same time. I think that’s a unique difference to explore. I can see the differences in their pictures. BigBrother had cheeks OUT TO THERE. And LittleBrother can’t wear any of BigBrother’s footed sleepers because of his excessive length. It makes me laugh.

I won’t expect LittleBrother to do everything at the same time. He’ll have his own timeline. And I will respect and appreciate his growth and development. And I’m not sure why it has to be any different with my oldest yet placed child.

She does some awesome things. So does BigBrother. And so will LittleBrother. Why can’t I rejoice in any of their sameness? Why can’t I smile when BigBrother lines all of his toys up in a line and think, “Oh, she used to do that, too!” Why can’t I laugh at their funny words and think, “Munchkin used to say it this way?” Why can’t I ask how she handled some developmental milestones just so I can have an inkling of what to expect? Not that BigBrother or LittleBrother have to follow in her shoes but, here’s the truth folks, parents are all flying by the seat of their pants. ANYTHING that lets me know what may or may not happen is a great, great help. You know, I know it.

I rejoice in the samenesses and differences in all of my children. I won’t stop thinking of my daughter when it comes to these things. I am so very proud of all of her accomplishments. (Recently, she fell in love with a trumpet!) And I am so very proud of my boys. As long as I’m not telling one or the other to act in x-manner because y-kid did z-thing, I don’t think I’m harming any of them. I think by rejoicing in those accomplishments (and commiserating in their struggles), I’m doing all of my children a great service.

Because who doesn’t want to know that someone is proud of them? And what parent doesn’t want to know that they’re not alone in the struggles?

All of my children are awesome. I am such a blessed mama.

Not this year.

It’s a big one. Five and all. So I’m doing something special.

I’m making a photo book (ala Shutterfly) featuring pictures of us together from the past five years. I’m going all out and doing the big 12×12 book. More room for pictures and all around loving goodness. I haven’t yet thought of a catchy title. Other than maybe… Five Years in The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Or something equally lame. And I haven’t yet decided if I’m going to simply caption photos…

of if I want to make a poem and/or story that makes its way through the book and photos that basically encapsulates our relationship together. I really think I’d like to do that… but it seems somewhat daunting. Of course, that’s the reason that I’ve never settled on any singular topic for a book-book either. It’s big and scary. I’m not quite sure how I could appropriately describe our relationship. Being age appropriate is vastly important. I wouldn’t want it to be too corny (ala, “once upon a time”) or too melodramatic (ala, “it was a dark and stormy night”) or too light (ala, “I’m nothing more than an extra person in your life”). Balance would be important.

I’m writing out loud, in case you didn’t gather, and right now? Captioning pictures seems easier. But less … real … somehow.

Anyway, I’m merely talking about it out loud, putting it here, so that I can remind myself to keep on top of this project. Hold me accountable folks. I’ll have to do a lot of scanning physical printed pictures from our first year and a lot of digital gathering up of the past three years. And make sure to take a lot of pictures from this year. But I can do this.

She’ll probably toss it off to the side in lieu of something cool like a toy. But someday I think it will mean something. No?

Today’s song that makes me think of our adoption and/or the Munchkin?

Sexyback by Justin Timberlake.

Oh, you read me right. I don’t know what it is about that song but it is like candy-coated crack to small children. BigBrother? Loves it. And forces me to play it on repeat if it accidentally comes on iTunes while he’s in the room. (We have the clean version downloaded.) In fact, the Munchkin and JD love the song equally.

When we were traveling back to their house after a side-trip to North Carolina, I think we might have listened to the song a billion and a half times. Nothing is more amusing than watching the Munchkin shake her rear end in her car seat. (And JD. And BigBrother!) In fact, when we all went to BabyDisco earlier this year, we made the kids shirts that read, “(THEIRNAME) Brought Sexy Back.” Oh yeah. We’re really that lame.

And so, hearing this song makes me smile. Not because Justin Timberlake is uber-hot (he’s okay) or a brilliant lyricist (uh, not quite). But because I’ve had good times dancing to this song with the Munchkin. I have good memories surrounding this song.

And, yeah, it makes me shake my rear end, too. Even uber-pregnant.

Hallmark commercials make me cry. When I’m not pregnant. Along that line of thinking, I’m also somewhat of a pack-rat. I have all of BigBrother’s cards for his baby shower, his first birthday. I keep cards from my Husband. (And I buy him random sappy ones as well.) I am into scrapbooking. And I take a bagillion and one pictures. All the time. I like to have documentation of things. As I said, I’m sappy.

How does this play into adoption?

I have kept everything D has sent. I’ve kept things left behind (that weren’t needed). Like, for example, one of her binkies. As an example, when we were cleaning out LittleBrother’s room, I found of Munchkin’s socks. They’re now sitting in the hall by LittleBrother’s door with some other things that need to be put in appropriate places. I don’t want to move them right now. They make me feel as if she is here.

It also means that I have my camera going non-stop during visits. It helps give me something to look back at during those long times between visits!

Anyway, that’s seven things about me. Not everything about me. Just seven simple (but true!) little things about me.

But man, I broke down in tears at Bible Study tonight. And it wasn’t the message.

In fact, I wasn’t paying attention. The contractions were keeping me somewhere between coherence and severe pain. I was trying but I kept floating in and out. A friend of mine, whom I wrote about before, passed me a note. To bring everyone up to speed, I did tell her about the Munchkin’s placement and she regularly asks me about my daughter as well as my son. She doesn’t treat the topic as taboo and I love her all the more for it. And so, back to the note.

I felt like we were in middle school, passing notes. She had actually already passed me one note to give to my Husband about permits for bonfires. I figured it was an addendum to said note. So, I just briefly grazed over the note. And then I had to read it again. And again. And then I cried. I put down the note, put my hand over my eyes, and cried.

She and the Pastor’s wife (who have become very good friends; as you remember, our Pastor is new as of this summer) are throwing me a flipping BABY SHOWER next month. They’re getting the women from the choir and our Sunday School class together. And throwing me a baby shower. A baby shower.

I had a baby shower with BigBrother. My best friend planned and threw it and it was beautiful and amazing. It was everything she knew I wanted (minimal cheesy games, maximum good food). My best friend knew how upset I was that I wasn’t treated to a baby shower at all when I was pregnant with the Munchkin. She went above and beyond the call of duty with BigBrother’s shower. I felt honored and blessed and couldn’t have asked for more.

In fact, I didn’t ask for more. I didn’t want anything this time around, I told everyone. Considering LittleBrother is also a boy, there was no need for another shower. We have everything we need (except a breast pump which I’m still researching). With the boys so close in age, I just didn’t need one. I had my one day of glory. I finally felt honored as a Mother. It just really hadn’t crossed my mind this time.

But this? This unexpected gesture? From my church? After I experienced so much crud from my parent’s church when I was pregnant with the Munchkin? And not one family in the church, including the Pastor and his wife who were adoptive parents, offered to give the child even a onesie? Or even offered to pray with and/or for me? And these ladies, who are not remotely close to my age, are throwing a party? In my honor? Especially knowing my past history?

I’m humbled. I’m speechless. I’m kind of emotional.

It did stir up some old resentment towards the church my parents were attending (and dragging me to) at the time of my pregnancy with the Munchkin. I’ll be honest. I do hold some anger for that Pastor and the hell on Earth that he put me and my family through at that time. Looking back on all of that tonight, as I sit here very, very reflective, I’m shocked that I escaped with any amount of faith in tact. I really, really am. I know so many birth mothers who no longer have their faith because of the adoption (or somehow attached to the adoption if not directly because of). Perhaps it’s because I didn’t associate my faith with my parent’s church? I don’t know. I won’t pretend to even want to know why; I’m just glad I have what I have.

And so, back to being humbled instead of angry.

Yes, humbled. A mother, who lost her own daughter in a more tragic way than I care to really think about, is honoring my motherhood… knowing the full extent of my own motherhood. It doesn’t take away the hurt that no one cared about me when I was alone and scared. No, that still exists. But it feels pretty darn good. It feels …

It feels like I want other mothers to feel. No matter their marital status or age or circumstance. I hope against hope that I can remember this feeling as I grow older and time wears down my memories. I hope that someday I can bestow a mother with the same feeling of respect. I want to pass this one on someday… to a mother who may not feel as though she deserves such honor. Because we all do. Single, married, rich, poor, what have you.

I’m rambling. In short: I’m just so darn touched this evening. I think I’ll try something more coherent on this again soon. But I just needed to get this all out. I needed to.

TheHusbandMan and I were watching Dr. Phil (the Fireman and the NANNY!) when the UPS truck pulled up. I told him it would be my package from D while he told me it would be his beer brewing kit. Surprise, surprise, it was both! We both delighted in opening our boxes, showing off our new possessions and acting like kids on Christmas morning.

I sorted through my package which was all maternity clothes, lovingly sent by D. They’re all fall and winter clothes, in the size that I need them considering the size that I am, so it’s like a whole extra wardrobe! The burgundy track suit that I’ve been lusting after for quite some time and the super fun beaded jeans. I was amused that one shirt is a shirt that I already have; we have such similar tastes. I was also thankful that these arrived because Old Navy is having a maternity sale right now and… oh, I’ve been hankering for some sweaters and jeans and cords (!) and all of that lovely fall stuff. I can now hold off. For at least a month. (Maybe.)

I held up a shirt that felt really soft and I held it to my face. And man, if I didn’t immediately well-up with emotion and tears.

There are smells in life that are attached to memories. And the smell of J and D’s house plus the smell of their laundry detergent can just immediately conjure up memories of my daughter. I was just suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of longing for both my daughter and one of my best friends whom I haven’t seen in a few months! My heart felt heavy. I was kind of upset.

Her blanket used to smell like this as well. She had two blankets. The pink silky variety. And D gave me one at some point. For awhile, we would switch out the blanket on visits so that it would smell like her for awhile. And then, after BigBrother was born, he inherited the blanket. (Yes, my son has a pink blanket. Two blue, one pink. He loves them all equally.) And it smells like him, like our home, like our laundry detergent. Not that I think we stink. I just miss the smell that accompanies my daughter.

And so smelling it today was … unexpected … and somewhat hard … but … welcome. I’ve got the darks in the laundry right now (because it’s supposed to be 60 degrees on Saturday and I’m wearing that burgundy track suit!!!) but… I might not wash the white jacket for awhile. Keep it smelling like my daughter. In case I need a moment of immediate transport.

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J and I are planning a memorial for Rose. It's slow going since we've been inundated with crazy schedules on both ends and nothing but unending rain for a week and a half. Eventually, we plan on taking J's Grandpa's boat out to Salt Fork, finding a quiet spot of our own, and sprinkling petals from my rosebush(es) while reciting something that we've both written.

Neither of us have written something as of yet. I have so much to say and nothing at all. I know it will come to me, eventually. I will be taking pictures, of course, to forever capture this memorial. To remind us of a life lost far too quickly. To remind me that I have three children.

This grief is new and I don't like it much. I have newer compassions, however, and my heart breaks for all of those in the sisterhood that I have unwillingly joined. I wouldn't wish this pain, this loss, on my greatest enemy. I'm working towards some kind of peace. I think the memorial will bring more of that in my direction. I also have the pregnancy and infant loss ribbon charm on my bracelet as well as an angel holding February's birthstone. February 20th would have been her due date. Amethyst is pretty.

I have my good days and bad. What to write.. what to write..

D and I were on the phone. The Munchkin was calling for her downstairs in her bedroom. She goes in, calms her down and then says:

D: Do you want to say goodnight to Jenna?
Munchkin: Okay.
D: *puts Munchkin on the phone* Say goodnight Jenna.
Munchkin: Goodnight Jenna.
Jenna: *tearing up* Goodnight Munchkin.
D: Say Love You.
Munchkin: Love you.
Jenna: *full out crying* Love you too, Munchkin.

And so, I cried. While driving. Not the best. D gave me a few moments to compose herself as she helped Munchkin with a Polly Pocket toy. I didn't hear when she said something to me because I was compiling this post in my head. And she called me on it. Oh, she knows me all too well! We laughed as tears still made their way down my face.

My daughter said goodnight to me, called me by name and then told me she loved me.

Love you too, Munchkin. Love you, too. 

Munchkin.